


In Session (RAFAEL BARBA)

by RockWithItWriting



Category: Law & Order: SVU, Law & Order: Special Victims Unit RPF
Genre: Other, Trans!Reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 11:56:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7531882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockWithItWriting/pseuds/RockWithItWriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have all these warnings on tumblr about how I'm a "cisgirl" but fuck that, I'm trans as fuck and I know how this feels lol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Session (RAFAEL BARBA)

“Just go to the trial!” You mocked your boss as you scrubbed out your jeans under the courtroom sinks, “It’ll be a big scoop! It’ll make your _career_!” You spit out the last word venomously and threw the jeans down in the skin, wiping your dripping hands on the black boxers that clad your thighs, “I’m going to fucking quit my job, I swear to God,” You felt near tears and looked to a pile of your things in the corner.

You were glad that you had an extra tampon, but you weren’t glad your period had come in the middle of a trial, when you were supposed to be reporting. And, what the hell were you supposed to do? Your jeans were soaked, not only from the blood, but from the water you put on them to try and wash out the blood. In vulgar terms, you were fucked. You were stuck in the men’s room, something that people used regularly, and you had no pants.

Literally no pants.

You gasped and tipped your head back, feeling the humiliation and shame wash through you. Your only choice was to, was to… Hell, what was your choice? Put on your soaked pants and go out the back way? How would you make it home?

You whipped your head toward the door when you heard voices behind it, coming closer. It sounded like a male voice and a female voice, chattering angrily. You recognized the male voice and it filled you with horror.

It was Rafael Barba, the man who was trying to put the rapist behind bars. “ _Fuck_ ,” You gasped, launching into action. You launched yourself toward your jeans, trying to wring them out the best you could before he opened the door. Maybe you could put them on, say the reporter next to you spilt his water bottle on you- or you could just… You could smash your shoe into the faucet, causing it to break and tell him you’ve been in the bathroom trying to fix a broken faucet that had sprayed all over you.

_That would never work._

You looked toward the door, gasping and shaking, before holding your jeans up.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” The tears almost fell down your cheeks when you could still see the blood stain on the crotch; faint, but there. You would have to keep washing them, keep working them under the water to get the stain out and then hide in the stall to let them dry before leaving. You would tell your boss that you had come into a medical emergency, as you couldn’t exactly tell him your were trans. He’d probably fire you. Anyways, you could get the scoop tomorrow because the case wasn’t over yet.

But you would never do that if _Rafael fucking Barba_ walked in on you, in your boxers with your blood stained jeans in the sink.

You were so immersed in scrubbing the jeans furiously that you didn’t hear Rafael enter, didn’t hear him clear his throat, and didn’t hear him approach you, until the ADA tapped you on the shoulder.

“Shit!” You whipped around, stumbling back and almost slipping on the linoleum in your socks. Rafael raised his eyebrows and gestured to the sink where the water was spilling over the denim.

“May I ask what you’re doing?” Your cheeks flushed, mouth gasping, unable to make a noise. The tears rolled over your cheeks, humiliation flooding you and your knees shook. Rafael cast one look into the sink and then back to your boxers, which held your packer snugly in place, and realization dawned on his face. He dropped his suitcase and turned, stalking back to the door and locking it. Your knees gave out when you realized he was going to help you.

Even in New York, one of the most diverse places, people didn’t want to help you, didn’t want to associate with you, once they realized that you didn’t identify as cis, but fell under the trans spectrum.

You hiccupped and wiped your hand across your face, pushing the tears away as Rafael turned back to you, pulling off the jacket of his three piece suit, tossing it over the door of a stall before rolling his sleeves and crouching in front of you.

“I don’t understand what’s going on here, but I want to know how I can help.” You nodded, but let out another sob. Rafael rested his hands on your shoulder, gently, and spoke in a much softer voice, yet still louder than your sobbing, “I’ve worked cases with hate crimes and I’ve seen first hand what this biological period of time does to your mental status. But if you can tell me anyway to help you, we can get you back in that courtroom before the recess is over. What’s your name?” You told him your name and he nodded, standing and walking back to his briefcase.

“I don’t think these are going to fit you, but it’s better than nothing. I can find a room to put your trousers into dry, and you can get them at the next recess.” He held out a pair of slacks to you and removed his own belt so they would stay around your hips. You looked up and Rafael looked warped through the tears in your eyes.

“Thank you,” You whispered, standing and taking the slacks from him. They were plain, black slacks, something that wouldn’t look out of place if Refael spilt something on his own slacks and had to change. They would blend well with your casual suit jacket over a t-shirt, common in your workplace to wear. “These should work,” He nodded and helped you up, ripping some paper towels from the dispenser. He ran them over your cheeks and under your eyes, then running cool water on them.

“This is going to be a little cold, but it will bring down the redness. My _abuelita_ taught it to me when I was in college and finals were, well, they were hell.” You nodded and let Rafael wipe your face with the cool towels, his jaw set firm and his eyes showing you nothing but compassion. “Go ahead and put those on, and I’ll help you with your jeans after.” he stepped back, tossing the towels in the trash. You stepped into Rafael’s slacks, tightening the belt around your waist and adjusting your jacket and shirt to where they covered the obvious enlarged waistline. “Those fit you well,” The ADA noticed, turning back to you. He massaged his jaw with his hand before looking back to your stained jeans. “I don’t have anything for the jeans, but if we can get the last of the stains out I can get them to be dry, at least.” You nodded and took a step toward the sink but Rafael held up his hand.

“I’ll get it. You’ve been through enough.” You squeaked in protest.

“No, sir, you don’t have to do that. I can do that, you’ve done enough, Mr. Barba.” He snorted.

“Please, call me Rafael. We’re close enough now that we can speak to each other on a first name basis.” Rafael dispensed some soap on his hand, turning on the water to begin washing the blood from the crotch of your jeans.

“Thank you, Rafael,” His name rolled from your tongue easily and your body began shaking again as you watched the blood spun down the drain from your pants. He looked over your shoulder and sighed when he saw you, wearing his pants, still near a breakdown.

“Go, sit by your things. I’ll fill you in on what happened when you left.” You complied, still feeling embarrassed. When Rafael saw that you were sitting, fiddling with the frayed edge of your notebook, he began filling in on what you had missed, starting at the minute that you walked out to the recess. When he was done, and wringing out your jeans, something clicked in your head.

“Rafael,” You started, “How did you know when I left?” He flushed and rolled your jeans up, clearing his throat.

“I, _ah_ , saw you walk out of the courtroom. The rustling caught my attention.” You nodded and bit your lip. Rafael set your rolled jeans down before fixing his sleeves and walking back to where his jacket was. “Gather your things and I’ll make sure we can lay your pants out to dry before we go back to the courtroom. You’re lucky you’re a reporter and not in the spotlight. Nobody will even notice.”

“Rafael, thank you,” You mumbled again, gathering your bag and your notebook. You followed him to the door, your wet jeans in his hand, “This is… I never expected to get treated like this if someone came into the bathroom.” He turned to you before he reached out to unlock the door.

“It isn’t hard to make the decision to help you. How could I not? You’re no different than myself. You face different problems and that doesn’t make you any less of a man.” Tears threatened to fall, again, and you nodded while you flushed. “I want you to remember that, because as long as you remember that something out of your control doesn’t change who you are, you can stay strong. And I’m going to give you my phone number so in case this, or anything like this, happens again, I can help you. Is that okay with you?” You nodded fervently because, well, Rafael was attractive and the aura of confidence, yet sympathy. He didn’t understand what you were going through, the humiliation of bleeding through your pants, but he would have been damned if he hadn’t have helped you. Rafael Barba wasn’t going to leave you near tears, without trousers, just because you _happened_ to have a vagina and _happened_ to bleed out of it. The concept that someone would was ridiculous to the man.

He had seen too many victim suicides halfway through a trial brought to him by SVU to be transphobic.

He was too good of a man to be transphobic. His mother, his _abuelita_ , taught him better.

“You are a good man, Rafael Barba.” You whispered, “Now I can understand why you always win your cases.” He smiled at you and looked bashfully at the ground.

“You are a good man, too. Now let’s get these jeans out to dry and get back to the courtroom. Hopefully nobody’s needed to go to the bathroom.” You chuckled and let the weight on your shoulders lift off.


End file.
